


Bloodstains and Wine

by rhetoricalrogue



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-08 01:45:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17972129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetoricalrogue/pseuds/rhetoricalrogue
Summary: Snippets of story between Vivian Hawke and Fenris





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going through my archives and finding prompt requests. Since I'm going in chronological order from when they were written, these may be out of order story-wise. Some of these may tie in together, but for the most part, they can be taken as unrelated one-shots. This first one was written in December 2015.

Vivian hissed as the antiseptic did its job. She tried to wiggle away from the pain, but all she did was make the desk she was sitting on squeak in protest.

“That’s what you get, starting a fight like that,” Fenris said, rinsing off her other hand before treating her knuckles. “I’m surprised that you haven’t been banned from the Hanged Man yet.”

She shrugged and looked at the wall somewhere behind his shoulder to distance herself from the bubbling noise coming from her split knuckles and whatever Fenris was using to disinfect her wounds. He’d added more books to his collection, most of them installments of _Hard in Hightown_. She squinted. Apparently Isabela had added _101 More Ways to Use Root Vegetables Erotically, Volume 2_ to his collection. “Corff likes me, and besides, that jerk was hitting on Nora.” _That jerk_ happened to have three very ugly friends with him, who hadn’t liked the fact that a slip of a woman had stood up to them. Threats had been made, people hadn’t backed down, and suddenly someone was minus a tooth and was sporting a black eye.

Fenris rolled his eyes and gently wrapped bandages around her fingers. “You’re just lucky you didn’t break anything,” he said.

“Yeah, well you ought to see the other guys.”

“I _did_. You did quite a number on them.” Lifting her hand up to the light, he inspected his work. “Can you move your fingers?”

Vivian flexed her hands, wincing when the split skin on her knuckles stretched underneath the bandages. “Hurts, but nothing a few days and some poultices can’t cure.”

“I’m surprised. Usually you go running to the Apostate.”

She sighed. “Not tonight, Fenris, please?” She looked at him from under the mess of hair that had gotten pulled out from the normally tidy ponytail she kept it in. “Maybe I wanted to see you after all that.”

Still holding onto her hand, he brought it up to his lips. “Very well.” Kissing each injured knuckle, he looked at her from under hooded eyes. “Better?”

She smiled. “Surprisingly, yes.”

Placing her right hand on her knee, he picked up her left hand and treated it with similar kisses. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“What for?”

He moved his attention from her knuckles to the inside of her wrist. “You didn’t take on four idiots on your own just because one of them was harassing Nora. They said something about me, didn’t they?”

Vivian looked away and bit her lip. “How did you know?”

“Because,” his lips moved up her forearm, causing gooseflesh to break out in his wake. “One of them was still conscious by the time I got there. They told me I had to learn how to contain my bitch of a woman.”

“And what did you do?”

“Knocked him out cold. _No one_ insults you, Hawke.”

Vivian stretched out her legs until Fenris was standing between them. “No one insults you either, Fenris.”

He chuckled. “What a pair. We’re going to make Aveline’s life miserable with all the reports she’s going to have to file, aren’t we?” Leaning closer, he held her hips in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. He moved one of his hands up to cup her cheek but stopped when she flinched.

“One of them got in a lucky shot,” she explained.

Carefully, as if she were made out of glass, Fenris turned her face to the lamp he had set on the desk to see what he was doing. “That’s going to bruise,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

“Nothing can be done about it.” She slid her hand up over his shoulder until she could gently rake her nails against his scalp, his hair running through her fingers like silk. “And Aveline already warned me that she’d make the both of us do community service if things like this kept happening. My guess is that we’ll probably have to take on a few more people before everyone else gets the drift to leave us the Void alone, and serve some time training her recruits.”

He grinned. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“I can suffer through it if you can.” Hooking her legs behind his thighs, she tugged him closer. “You know, my hands don’t hurt as much. I think there’s something to this whole kissing and making it feel better thing.”

“You don’t say?”

She tilted her head, presenting her bruised jaw. “My face would probably stand to feel a little better, you know.”

Fenris let out a low, gravely sounding laugh that buzzed against her chest. “The things I do for you, Hawke,” he murmured, lips gliding across her jawline. For good measure, he nipped at the uninjured portion, making her gasp.

“Fenris?” Her hands tightened in his hair and she melted bonelessly against him when he swiped at the bite with his tongue.

“Hm?”

“With all that ruckus, I seem to have forgotten that my lip got split.”

That earned her a full-bodied laugh. “What am I going to do with you, Hawke?” he asked fondly, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb.

“Oh, I have a few ideas.”


	2. sweeter than wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written in November 2016 for Kissing Day, an event that [thesecondseal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondseal/pseuds/thesecondseal) hosted on Tumblr.

The door to Fenris’ mansion creaked ominously as Vivian put her shoulder against the stubborn wood. “Anyone home?” She closed the door as loudly as she had opened it, feet stepping over the raised bits of broken tiles in the entryway. Her nose wrinkled at the bodies slumped against the wall – she knew they were dummies instead of actual dead people, but they were _convincing_ dummies. Fenris claimed that they kept nosy interlopers at bay and she had to say that he had a point. If the first impression gawkers had of his home was a gory, dilapidated mess, they weren’t likely to investigate further.

It wasn’t as if the rest of Fenris’ home was any better. While he kept it relatively clean, it had fallen into disrepair. Vivian bet good money that it had started falling apart long before Denarius purchased the building, and as long as the inner rooms were in relatively good condition, he wasn’t going to waste coin on fixing things up to Hightown standards. The two of them had that very conversation early on in their acquaintance and she had to agree with him. The money they split between them when they went on jobs together was his to do with what he wanted to, what other people thought be damned. It was one of the things that she liked about him.

“Fenris? It’s Vivian.” She pushed her hair behind her ear to get it out of her eyes. Most of the time, Fenris kept the multitude of candle sconces unlit, saving the precious beeswax candles and lamp oil for the rooms that he spent the most time in, and while the hallways were dark, she had been in his house often enough to remember where loose tiles or snagged carpets were.

“Over here.” Fenris’ silver head poked out from over the rarely used second floor landing. Vivian made her way up the stairs, shifting the borrowed wicker basket she had brought with her from one arm to the other. It wasn’t very large, but one of the Chantry initiates had loaned it to her to deliver some pantry staples to a few families in Lowtown. _Keep it a day longer,_ she had told Vivian, smiling warmly. _For the holiday festivities._ Vivian had politely thanked her, for once holding back her more sarcastic replies when someone mentioned the upcoming holiday, promising to bring it back the next morning.

“Staying in tonight?” she asked as she walked over to where Fenris stood. He’d opened the ornate glass double doors leading out to a balcony overlooking an inner courtyard. The courtyard itself was dark and overrun, what plants Vivian could see spreading out over the barely visible walkways and creeping over the broken fountain against the courtyard wall. “I thought you’d be at the Hanged Man with everyone else.”

He arched his eyebrow. “Have you _seen_ the Hanged Man?”

Vivian made a face. “It was disgusting.”

“All… _pink._ ”

“And flowery.”

Fenris shuddered. “The sight of Corff in a flower crown was enough for me to turn on my heel and pretend that this whole mad holiday is a bad dream.” He gestured towards the basket she held. “What have you got there?”

She lifted the arm she had the basket hanging on. “I had a feeling that you would skip Varric’s invitation to join in the annual Kissing Day feasting. I asked for a few snacks.”

Fenris smiled. “Asked for, or stole?”

“I prefer the term _liberated_. Stealing has too many negative connotations.”

That teased another laugh out of him. “Well, far be it for me to let these recently liberated goods go to waste. Come on, Hawke, let’s eat.” He started to move back inside, but stopped at the last minute. He reached out and grabbed the metal trellis bolted on the wall next to the door and gave it a firm shake as if to test its sturdiness. “Wait. Come with me.”

Vivian watched as Fenris nimbly climbed the trellis and hauled himself up onto the roof. “You do have a table inside, you know,” she told him dryly, already hooking her boot onto the first metal rung.

“Yes, but if we’re going to be celebrating an overrated holiday such as Kissing Day, we may as well do it in style.” He reached down and took the basket from her so she’d have both hands free to climb. When she reached the end of the trellis, he held out his hand to help haul her up onto the roof with him. “There may not be candlelight, but a starlit picnic will have to suffice.” Luckily there was a full moon, which gave them both plenty of light to cautiously travel the rooftop, both of them looking for weak spots to avoid.

They finally settled on a portion that was closest to the middle of the estate. If Vivian had to guess by the faint orange glow to her left, they were a little ways away from Fenris’ bedroom and its self-made skylight. She sat down and opened up the basket, pulling out a small loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. “I don’t think the holiday is overrated, you know,” she said, using her dagger to slice the cheese. “It’s just…”

“Just?”

“ _Different,_ I guess, than what I’m used to growing up with.”

Fenris sat down next to her and began to tear the bread into handheld portions. “What did you grow up with, Hawke?”

“Well for one, Kissing Day wasn’t a well-celebrated holiday in Ferelden. Sure, there were some places that observed it, but for the most part, the day went by unnoticed. Since both Mother and Father were from Kirkwall, they were used to celebrating much like this, Mother especially.” She took a few thoughtful chews of bread and cheese, swinging her legs in idle circles over the edge of the roof. Vivian had to admit, the view was lovely, what with all of Hightown celebrating around them and the soft lights of Lowtown and the docks below twinkling in the distance. Had she not lived there personally, it would have been easy to imagine it as a perfect, picturesque city where nothing bad ever happened. “Mother and Father would make their own Kissing Day cards for the other and personalize them with little sayings specific to the other, not like the generic, overly decorated cards that are being sold at outrageous prices all around town.

“There were always decorations around whatever house we were living in too. Mother would hang tatted lace in the windows and Father made a point to pick wildflowers. Depending on where we were, the flowers turned into centerpieces of pinecones and branches of berries since flowers stopped blooming in certain areas of Ferelden around the fall.” Vivian smiled as she leaned back on her palms. “When he got old enough, Father would take Carver with him and Carver would be so proud of the pinecones he found. Mother always praised him for having a knack for finding the best shaped ones. Bethany’s lace eventually joined Mother’s, and the family’s favorite piece was one of Bethy’s first that she had done without any help from Mother.”

“And what about you? What did you do?” Fenris brushed crumbs off his shirt as they polished off their meal.

Vivian dug into the basket. “The baking. Baking cookies was always a family thing, but Carver was more interested in eating the dough before it had cooked and Bethany has always liked decorating the finished cookies more than actually making them.” She pulled out a handkerchief and unknotted the ends, showing off an array of simple cookies. “We may not have had the fancy icing and fondants that Hightown boasts, but I’d put mine up against any of theirs in a blind taste test.” She pulled out a molasses flavored cookie with crystallized ginger. She’d had to do a bit of creative bartering for all the ingredients, especially the ginger, but it had been worth it to have the barren little kitchen in their home smell of sugar and spices. She’d done most of the baking by herself just because they had lacked countertops and room to bake together as a family, and honestly, she was somewhat grateful for the experience. Kirkwall had never felt like home to her, but in that instance of mixing and measuring, she could have sworn that she had heard her father’s laugh ring out in the empty room and hear a much younger version of Bethany yell at Carver for stealing still-hot cookies off the counter as they cooled. She had also been grateful that she had long since memorized each of her family member’s favorite cookies, seeing that the family cookbook had been lost in Lothering.

“Which one is your favorite?” Fenris asked, chewing on a delicately flavored shortbread cookie. He caught a hint of tea and lavender and had a sudden thought to an evening he, Hawke, Varric and Isabela had patrolled Hightown’s market as a favor to Aveline to help curtail nighttime crime. They’d lingered next to a stall that sold a wide variety of teas and while everyone was catching their breath, Hawke had deftly picked the lock to a cabinet and helped herself to a single muslin bag of tea. The memory stuck with him because Isabela had commented on how Hawke could have easily taken more, but Vivian had said that the one bag was enough for what she had planned.

“This one,” she said, holding up her cookie. “I never really had a favorite growing up, but after Father’s death, making his favorite feels like he’s still around, you know?”

“Your family sounds like it’s very closely knit.”

She looked down. “We were, once.” After Father died, things just seemed to fall apart. Their mother withdrew from everyone, and it became commonplace to hear her cry herself to sleep nearly every night. Bethany’s once brilliant smiles were dimmer and appeared less often as she felt helpless to heal the hole their father’s absence had left in their lives. Vivian thought back to her brother: she and Carver were too much alike and they often butted heads. He was just so _angry_ all the time, and so was she, but at least he was free to express his grief by punching walls and yelling. Vivian envied him; she couldn’t do the same, no matter how much she wanted to, because someone had to keep a level head and try to manage their household. The sweetness of the cookie suddenly felt bitter against her tongue. Carver had died before they could make things right between them and it was a weight that she felt she would always carry with her. Clearing her throat, she decided to change the subject. “Bethany is probably having the time of her life down at the Hanged Man right now. She loves all the festivities, the cheesier the better.”

“Well, I guess there’s no accounting for taste.” Fenris gave her a quick smile. “At least your sister’s faults aren’t too grievous.” He had heard the way Vivian’s voice had thickened as she spoke of her family and he had seen the quick way that she had desperately tried to move the conversation on.

She laughed, brushing off bits of sugar from her hands. “Ah, the last thing to cap off a good meal.” Rummaging through the basket again, she brought out a dusty bottle of wine.

“Where did you get that?” He took the bottle and an offered corkscrew from her.

Vivian pointed towards one of the darkened houses in Hightown. “From the wine cellar.”

Fenris opened the bottle and put the cork and corkscrew back in the basket. “Liberating more items?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t stealing if they belong to you.” She pat at her pocket. “And if you happen to have the cellar key to the old Amell estate. The Viscount may not recognize that the house still belongs to my mother, but that wine is still rightfully ours for the drinking.” After the estate had been cleared of slavers and Vivian’s grandparents’ will recovered, Leandra had petitioned the Viscount to restore the family holdings to the rightful owners. Vivian was glad to see her mother’s stubborn light flare up once again. She’d been a shell of herself after Carver and Lothering, and it had made something tight in Vivian’s chest finally unfurl at the determined glint in her mother’s eyes.

The news had come at a good time too: for the first time in the years since Malcom Hawke’s death, Vivian had caught Leandra tatting lace in a familiar pattern. The string she used wasn’t of the highest quality, but it hadn’t been long before the first piece of heart shaped lace had adorned the sole window in the home they shared with their uncle. 

“I’m not sure of the vintage,” she admitted, taking the offered bottle and sniffing at the contents. “But I remember how Mother always used to talk about a sweet wine that her parents would bring out just for Kissing Day and how she had never found anything that quite matched it.” She had thought to bring another bottle out of the cellar just for her mother, but then thought against it, knowing how much Leandra would have disapproved of the gesture. She’d bring up a bottle once the home was theirs again, and she wouldn’t wait until Kissing Day to share it. Taking a sip straight from the bottle, she had to admit that the sweetness of the wine coated her tongue pleasantly. Taking a deeper swig, she handed the bottle back to Fenris.

“It has a nice bouquet,” he admitted. “A little too sweet for my tastes, more of a dessert wine than an actual drinking one.”

“Mother and Father used to always buy a bottle of wine to celebrate. It was the biggest indulgence they allowed themselves right after the harvest season. _The wine may be sweet, but your kisses are sweeter,_ my father always used to say. Mother would always laugh at him, but she’d always stretch up for a kiss.” She took another drink, a smile curling her lips as she thought about how Carver would make exaggerated gagging noises whenever their parents showed affection until their father would pick him up and press messy kisses against his cheek. Bethany would tug at his arms and demand her fair share of kisses and then Malcom would grab Vivian and hug all three of his children all at once.

“To Kissing Day,” she said, raising the bottle. “It may be an overblown, over-commercialized gaudy holiday here, but at least people are enjoying it.”

“Here, here.” They sat in companionable silence together as they passed the bottle back and forth until it was gone.

“I have no idea how we’re going to get down from here,” Vivian admitted. “I’m a bit tipsier than I was when I climbed up on the roof.”

Fenris laid back on the rooftop, his legs dangling over the edge just as hers were. “Then I guess I’m afforded the luxury of your company for a while longer.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” She flopped onto her back to mirror his position and turned her head to look at him.

He smiled and reached out to push a strand of hair behind her ear. “I enjoy your company, Hawke.”

“And I enjoy yours.” Looking at him for too long made butterflies flutter in her stomach, so she turned her attention towards the stars overhead. It was a clear night and she could make out a few constellations. Talking about the past had dislodged a bitter chunk of grief from where she had tightly held onto it and taking a deep breath, she gladly let it go, choosing to fill the spot it had been with a new, happier memory of rooftop conversation and starlit picnics.

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Fenris was gently shaking her awake. “It’s starting to get colder,” he told her. “We should probably try to get down.”

“You think we’re sober enough to attempt the trellis?”

He snorted. “No, but I think we’re drunk enough to attempt another method.” Fenris picked up the basket and gestured for her to follow him towards the hole in his bedroom ceiling. “We’ve jumped further before, and the bed is sturdy enough to take our weight.” He didn’t comment on the amused snort Vivian gave at his words, but she noticed that the moonlight showed how his cheeks had darkened when he caught what she had been laughing at.

“We’re going to wind up hurting ourselves,” she said, sitting down and scooting to the edge of the hole so she could jump down. “Varric is going to find both of us tomorrow with broken legs or worse, broken necks.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Then we’ll be in keeping with the holiday. Just think about how Varric will more than likely spin our demise: instead of meeting for a passionate tryst, star-crossed lovers met their end in an abandoned mansion.”

“That does sound like something he’d say.” Not giving herself any more time to second guess the wisdom of her actions, Vivian dropped down, grunting as she fell onto the mattress below. “Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

“No, and see, we didn’t die.” Fenris rolled off the bed and looked out the small window in the room. “It’s getting late.”

“I should be getting home.”

Fenris frowned. “Walking alone from here to Lowtown? Holiday festivities or no, it’s still dangerous. I’ll walk you back.”

“And then you’ll be walking alone from Lowtown back here.” She gave him a smile. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He smirked at her logic. It wasn’t as if the both of them could take anything that the streets could throw at them, but he really didn’t want the night to end just yet. “You could always stay here for the night,” he offered. “I usually sleep in a smaller room than this, you can have the bed.” It was a lie, but she didn’t have to know that.

“You don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I had minded.”

Vivian thought about it. She knew as well as he did that she could fully handle herself, but the night had turned into such a pleasant Kissing Day celebration that she was hesitant to return home and have it over. “Well, Mother mentioned staying at the Harris’ house for the evening. Mrs. Harris hasn’t been feeling well and Mother said that she didn’t feel right having her be alone during the night. And Bethy was going to stay at the Hanged Man.” Isabela and Varric had promised Vivian that they wouldn’t let Bethany out of their sight, but Vivian had trusted Aveline’s promise to do the same more than theirs. She knew her friends; both rogues thought that Bethany would thrive out from under the watchful eye of her sister, and Vivian would be the first to admit that she could be overprotective of Bethany at times, but with Carver only a year gone and the dangers that they faced almost every day…It was hard to let go of the apron strings. Things would be better once they earned enough gold to fund Varric’s expedition and came back rich enough to put Bethany on a shelf that the Templars couldn’t touch and a house fit for the lady their mother had once been.

Things _would_ be better, she knew it. And if they weren’t, she would _make_ them better.

Kicking off her boots, she sat on the edge of the bed. “How’s your kitchen?”

“Decent enough, I guess. I don’t use it often.”

She put her hand to her chest dramatically. “Why Fenris, for shame! We’re going to have to fix that – tomorrow I’ll raid your pantry and…”

Fenris saw the moment some memory flashed behind Hawke’s eyes. She swallowed thickly and rapidly blinked, and then the moment was gone. “And?” he prompted, doing his best to look as if he hadn’t noticed the way she had dropped her guard around him.

“And we’ll see what we can scrounge up for breakfast.” Her father used to make the best pancakes. They weren’t anything specific to Kissing Day and were just ordinary pancakes that he always made, but he made a rule that for every pancake served, a kiss would have to be given as payment. Vivian could remember that he always made them in the shape of tiny coins so everyone would have to shower him with kisses before they’d eaten. When it was just the three of them, there had been a plate overflowing with them. Once the twins arrived and time was separated between three children and a spouse, the pancakes got a bit bigger. In exchange, the kisses became longer.

They may not have had much, but Vivian Hawke had never once doubted just how much her family loved one another. Maker, but she missed that feeling. She didn’t have Bethany’s talent of healing hurts with gentle words and soft touches, nor did she have their mother’s knack of creating beauty out of an ugly situation or Carver’s boyish grin as he spouted off some sarcastic quip. She didn’t even have her father’s ability to hug someone and make them feel as if they were safest within the circle of his arms, but she had her fists and she had her knives and she had her own scathing words to throw at anyone that looked down on them. She’d protect what was left of their family any way that she knew how.

Fenris’ chuckle brought her out of her thoughts. “I’d like that. I have to warn you, you may not find much besides some flour and maybe a few other things.” Varric had brought up a basket of eggs and a crock of butter the other day with a story about how someone had paid him in food for a gambling debt. Fenris had seen through the storyteller’s thin lie and hadn’t said anything. Varric may act as aloof as possible, but there was a heart of gold beating under the impressive layer of chest hair.

“That should be enough. And if anything, we’ll just have to see what’s on sale in the morning.” Grinning, she hopped off the bed. “That’s the best part of Kissing Day: everything that didn’t sell is heavily discounted the next day.” The Chantry bells tolled the hour and Vivian jumped. It was different hearing them this close instead of the distant sound of them in Lowtown. “Midnight. I guess that means I’m not getting kissed next year.”

Fenris frowned in confusion. “What?”

“You don’t know? There’s a tradition that if an unmarried woman doesn’t get kissed by a man before midnight then that usually means she’ll remain unkissed for the rest of the year until the next Kissing Day rolls around. I think it’s a bunch of nonsense, but…” she stopped rambling when Fenris came up to her and very gently tipped her chin upwards. The brush of his lips against hers was lighter than air and just as brief, but Vivian found herself fighting to not lean towards him for another wine flavored kiss.

“The bells hadn’t stopped ringing yet, so I think you’re safe,” he murmured, stepping away with the faintest smile on his lips. “We can’t have the fearsome Vivian Hawke lacking kisses for an entire year, now can we?”

She quickly hid her surprise at the way he easily flirted with her behind a laugh. “Ass,” she told him, reaching out and playfully shoving at his shoulder. “I’m heading to bed.”

“Good night, Hawke.”

“Good night, Fenris.” She watched as he left the room and she turned back to the bed. Yawning, she unfastened her belt and untucked her shirt from her pants. Habit more than necessity had her putting a dagger close by on the nightstand, and she settled in against the surprisingly soft pillows, listening as the house settled around them.

She was just on the verge of sleep when her father’s words came back to her. _The wine may be sweet, but your kisses are sweeter, my dear._ “Happy Kissing Day,” she whispered, turning on her side and hugging a pillow that smelled faintly of the soap that Fenris used. “Here’s to more of them just like this.“


End file.
